The List
by squerrilla
Summary: Summary: Are you free tonight? Obi-Wan certainly is, but his new fantasy world is soon shattered by the appearance of someone he'd never expect to meet in a sex club. HET. Obi-Wan/Padme. Angst, sex and a twist, inspired by the movie Deception.
1. Chapter 1

Seated in a comfortable chair next to neatly-drawn curtains, Obi-Wan is oblivious to the faint alarm sounding somewhere within his living quarters. As he reads, his thumb traces an unconscious pattern over the textured paper, the leather of the book cover soft against his fingers.

The beeping sounds again, penetrating the dream-like world of the novel, and Obi-Wan looks up with a frown, turning his head to scan the room for the source of the noise. Just as he's beginning to wonder if he imagined it, the beeping sounds a third time and then he spots the comm unit, half-hidden beneath a stack of folders, blinking a faint red streak onto the polished surface of the dining table.

Thinking it unlike Bail to be forgetful, Obi-Wan reluctantly closes the book and places it on the arm of the chair. He crosses the room to the table, clears paperwork out of the way and flips the small device open, his finger hesitating over the activation button as he glances to the wall-chrono. It seems unlikely that the senator has only just realised what he's left behind; their meeting ended over three hours ago. His friend should be halfway to Alderaan now.

Obi-Wan activates the unit. "Bail?"

Silence.

Obi-Wan frowns, detecting a faint sound of breathing. "Hello?"

But it's not Bail. The reply is a question; the voice unmistakably female.

"Are you free tonight?"

The phrase is infamous, and for a moment Obi-Wan wonders if he might be dreaming. Although he's heard the rumours, he has never given much thought to the existence or non-existence of the notoriously elitist group known simply as _The List_. Surely Bail wouldn't be involved in something so..._decadent_.

"Hello? Is there a problem?"

Obi-Wan hesitates. "Erm, sorry, I'm not-"

"Can you be at the Galactic in one hour?" The voice is sultry, seductive and unfamiliar. And she sounds real enough...

He clears his throat, still not quite believing this is happening. "You don't understand, I-"

"Sorry, I didn't get that. The Galactic, one hour?"

As Obi-Wan turns around, his gaze comes to rest on the space to the left of the door. The empty space, where, even now, he still half-expects to see Anakin's boots. Below two layers of fresh paint, faded mud-splashes still are visible on the wall, the only evidence that his former Padawan had ever been here at all. Obi-Wan bites his lip against the hollow feeling in his stomach.

"Hello? Look, if you're not available I can just..."

She's about to hang up.

"No, I am... available." The reply slips out before he has time to decide precisely how much of a bad idea this is. He turns away from the door to glance at the chrono, tapping his fingers on the table. "I'll be there in an hour."

* * *

Bail contacts him the following day. When Obi-Wan offers to send the comm unit over to the senator's office, amusement is audible in the senator's reply.

"Perhaps you should keep it."

Obi-Wan shakes his head at the other man's holo-image, but a small smile twitches at his lips, spoiling his attempt at innocence.

"Did someone call?" Bail asks, leaning forward in his chair.

"Possibly."

"And you _met_ her?"

Obi-Wan says nothing, but crosses his legs and props his chin on one hand, allowing the smile to break across his face.

"You old devil!"

"Me? Old?"

They laugh, and Obi-Wan feels a lightness in his chest. It must be evident on his face, because Bail looks at him with a knowing smile.

"Then keep it. Enjoy yourself, for once, my friend. And for goodness sake don't worry about the bill. Just charge everything to my personal account." Obi-Wan opens his mouth to speak, but before he can protest, Bail has signed off.

* * *

Four standard weeks later, and Bail is still off-planet. Four weeks, and four calls on the comm unit. Four subtly-lit, expensive bars in Coruscant's most exclusive districts. Four tastefully-decorated hotels rooms, and four beautiful women. Intelligent, successful, assertive women, not the least bit intimidated by him, and absolutely unafraid to tell him exactly what they want.

If they recognise him they make no comment; the rules stipulate no names, and minimal conversation. Glamorous and exclusive as _The List_ may be, within the hotel room rank and status become irrelevant. There is only sex.

Uncomplicated, convenient, unattached sex.

It is, ironically, quite consistent with Jedi philosophy. But for Obi-Wan, with his tendency to extend his own morality beyond the simple restrictions of the Code, it is strange, new, and somewhat liberating.

It is also welcome distraction from the problems he would rather not think about. Even though, in the back of his mind, he knows those problems are not going to go away.

He needs this, but it is fantasy. An escapist fantasy.

The fifth time the comm unit sounds, reality makes an unscheduled appearance.

* * *

In the bar of Coruscant's Hotel Zero, Obi-Wan sips his second Corellian whiskey, and glances towards the door for the third time in as many minutes. He's beginning to wonder if his proposed companion for the evening might have changed her mind when the bartender slides a slim envelope beneath his fingers.

Inside he finds a keycard, and a neatly hand-printed note.

_Room 510. I'm waiting for you.__  
_  
Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow. In his admittedly limited experience this is unusual; the other women have always met him in the bar of the arranged hotel. He drains the remainder of the drink quickly, ice cubes tinkling in the glass.

After a short elevator ride he finds Room 510, knocking softly and listening for a second before sliding the card into the slot. The door unlocks with a click and slides open.

He steps inside, finding the room lit dimly by a single table lamp, his eyes adjusting to the darkness as the door slides shut behind him.

She is stood by the window, her back towards him, a knee-length black dress clinging to her petite body. Her dark hair is short, ends flicking outwards above her shoulders, and the exposed skin of her neck and back gleam in the low lighting. She turns her head slightly to the side as she hears him enter the room, her face hidden in deep shadow so he can't make out her features. He loosens his tie, and silently he slips off the jacket of his civilian suit and walks to the table where two glasses stand next to several bottles and a bucket of ice.

"Drink?" he says quietly, scooping ice into the glasses and twisting the top off a bottle of expensive Alderaan cognac.

"Please," she replies, and he glances up to see her kicking off her shoes, small feet sinking into the plush, dark carpet. His head is already buzzing from the alcohol, and now anticipation tingles his skin, tendrils of arousal beginning to curl around his thighs.

"You didn't want to be seen in public?" he asks, trying to sound nonchalant as he pours their drinks.

"Simpler that way." Her voice is low, but prickles with something familiar.

He can't place it. She's walking towards him. He holds out her drink, looking up a split-second later-

Shock.

Her hand moves to cover her mouth, and simultaneously he gasps, nearly dropping the glass.

"I.." he stutters, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. He doesn't know where to look, and it should certainly not be at the loosened lacing at the front of her dress, but he is entranced by the sight of her slim fingers playing with the flimsy material there. Her hand is pale, almost white, and her nails are not expensively-manicured, but bitten and short.

The fingers lift to push a thick lock of hair back behind her ear, drawing his attention back to her face. She smiles softly. "Well, this is a surprise."

The distinctive expression couples with the calm tone of her voice to convince him that yes, this really is her, and Obi-Wan closes his eyes for a moment, embarrassment replacing shock. "Senator Ami-" he begins, but the words are stopped by her finger on his lips.

"Shh," she says, leaning closer, a mysterious glint in her eyes, "no names, remember?"

His own eyes widen as her finger slides over his lower lip, his voice managing little more than a whisper of protest: "we can't-"

"Can't?" She removes the glass held loosely in his fingers and places it on the dresser. "Or won't?" She looks up at him, her expression a captivating mixture of defiance and vulnerability: the tilt of her chin says _you want me,_ whilst her eyes implore him: _please_.

"No. I mean, it's not that I don't..." he stutters, "it would just be a little-"

His fumbled protest is halted by a kiss.

Her lips are soft but insistent, and tastes of alcohol mixed with sweet muja-fruit. He is caught in the moment, powerless. Desire floods his body as she sways against him, sliding a hand into his hair, moving her lips over his, moaning quietly when his hand presses into the small of her back, drawing her closer.

She sucks his lower lip gently, then releases it to flick her tongue inside his mouth, lifting her leg and rubbing against him, and the next second he is kissing her deeply, tongue swirling against tongue, walking her backwards towards the bed-

And then he remembers who he is, and, more importantly, who _she_ is, and, horrified, he disentangles himself, pushing her away.

She looks at him for a moment, her large brown eyes swimming with hurt. Then she nods, and turns away.

He reaches to place a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry... It's just, this is far, far too complicated..."

"Don't worry about it." She shrugs him off, walking to grab a drink from the dresser and downing the contents.

He sighs, sitting down on the end of the bed and rubbing a hand over his eyes, wondering why he feels disappointed, that familiar hollow feeling returning.

The mattress sags as she sits down beside him. He takes the offered drink and downs it, not looking at her. "I should go."

"But you don't want to," she says quietly.

He looks up at her, surprised to find that she's right. "No," he says, trying to clear the memory of her lips from his mind. "Returning cold and lonely to the Temple isn't very appealing, I have to admit."

This time, when she smiles, it is with genuine amusement. "Hungry?"

He laughs and shakes his head, then pauses, mock-serious. "Ravenous."

Her laughter fills the emptiness that had begun to grow inside him. She leans to the bedside cabinet and grabs the room-service menu. "Then let's eat."

* * *

Just a little over an hour later they're still sitting on the bed, him crossed-legged at the foot, her with her back against the headboard, a tray containing mostly-empty plates placed between them. Lubricated by alcohol, their conversation has meandered between talk and debate, carefully skirting around anything too professional, or too personal.

Obi-Wan frowns at the cognac bottle shaking the last few drops into a glass. "You know," he says, "I have to admit I am surprised to find you're involved in this."

"You disapprove?" She teases, "But I could say the same, and I don't have any particular reputation to uphold. I seem to remember someone telling me about Master Kenobi steadfastly refusing the advances of all the women flinging themselves gratefully into his arms at the end of every mission."

Their eyes meet and her face suddenly grows serious. She bites her lip.

He looks down, fiddling with his glass, unable to resist voicing the question that forms. "Have you seen him recently?"

She pauses before speaking. "At the Senate?"

"Anywhere."

"Why would I?"

"I don't know," he says_._

_Because I thought you were one of the reasons he left._

Obi-Wan doesn't quite understand the jealousy that spikes through him in response to that thought. He's losing it. _Must be the alcohol..._

"Have you?" she asks.

"Hmm?"

"Have you seen him?"

He shakes his head. "Not for several months. Last I heard he'd taken a job with an engineering firm. Intelstar Corporation, I seem to recall."

"And you've not tried to contact him?"

He sighs. "No."

_What would I say, when he refuses to speak to me? Did he want me to beg him to stay? To accept the blame for his failings? To justify his behaviour to the Council, again and again?__  
_  
She pushes the tray out of the way, and shifts to his side. "You're tired." Her hand reaches to cup his cheek.

His skin tingles with the contact, helping the troubling thoughts fade away. There is concern in her expression as their eyes meet, and he realises he has never before seen her like this: stripped of the make-up and formal garments marking her rank, in the the absence of immediate danger, no mission, no duty, no distractions...

No Anakin.

Her hand is still on his face and she's watching him: expectant, but unsure. He raises his own hand, intending to move hers away, but somehow it finds its way to her face instead, and her eyes flutter shut as he runs his thumb over her cheek, eyelashes dark against her skin, lips full and pink...

"So beautiful," he whispers, finding himself swaying towards her.

"We can't do this," she replies, arching her neck as his thumb moves along her jawline.

"I know," he tilts her chin towards him, and his lips descend, stopping millimetres from hers, "but I don't think I can help it."


	2. Chapter 2

"We can't do this," Padmé's eyes are closed as she arches blindly into Obi-Wan's caress.

"I know," his finger tilts her chin, his breath warm on her lips, "but I don't think I can help it."

His thumb moves from her jaw to her collarbone, fingertips leaving a tingling trail on her neck. She expects at any second to feel his lips on hers, but instead there is the soft prickle of his beard against her neck, followed by his mouth, sucking gently, moving up towards her ear, his fingers continuing their delicate caress, slipping under the shoulder strap of her dress.

His fingers trace her lips then dip inside slightly, grazing her teeth. Swaying, she wraps an arm around his neck, pulling him back with her onto the bed, and he must be as intoxicated as she is because he tumbles with her, weight reassuringly real as it lands on top of her, their laughter mingling, his hair falling forwards, tickling her face.

"Hey."

Feeling him shift his weight, she half-opens her eyes.

He hovers above her, hands either side of her head. His eyes search her face and, realising this is a question, she smiles and nods, sliding a hand into the silky hair at the nape of his neck, drawing him closer.

A flicker of guilt removes the smile from her face a moment before he kisses her, but then her conscience is drowned out by the pressure of his tongue inside her mouth, unleashing her desire.

Before long her body demands more than just kisses and she wriggles underneath him, hooking her legs around his hips, enjoying the sensation of her dress riding up, indecently, to the top of her thighs. Their bodies align, his arousal evident against her through the layers still separating them.

He pulls away from her mouth, breath uneven, lips brushing her ear. "Too much clothing."

She pushes against his chest and he sits back, kneeling between her legs, his face flushed, hair dishevelled, eyes smouldering as his fingers move swiftly to unbutton his shirt.

She smiles lazily, her lips swollen and tingling from his kisses. "It suits you."

The dark green silk slides onto the floor and, he shrugs as his eyes follow it, avoiding the compliment, charmingly perplexed.

She chuckles, her eyes roaming the muscles of his chest. "Hmm… actually I think I've changed my mind."

He looks up, registering her hungry expression and grins, reaching down to lift her leg, hooking her knee to press a kiss to the back of her calf. His face becomes serious again as his fingers rake softly down the flesh of her thigh, grazing the edge of her underwear, all the time his eyes remaining locked with hers.

His hand leaves her and she shivers, fingers fumbling to unfasten her dress, the very opposite of the smooth efficiency with which he stands and sheds the rest of his clothing.

Her eyes sweep his body as he stands, naked before her, without a hint of self-consciousness. If anything he seems more relaxed this way, more confident. She sits up and starts to slip the dress from her shoulders.

"Leave it," he says huskily, taking both her hands and pulling her to her feet at the side of the bed.

Her dress is unfastened to the waist, hanging open. He reaches forwards and carefully pushes the strap off one of her shoulders, biting his lower lip as his hand moves over the swell of her exposed breast, rough thumb brushing once, then twice over her nipple. "I want to remember you like this." He takes a step forward, attaching his lips to her bare shoulder, the rest of his body not close enough to touch her. Two calloused palms trace the outsides of her thighs, sliding up underneath the hem of her dress. "Do you know I dreamt of you, once?" he whispers by her ear, thumbs caressing lightly.

"You did?" she murmurs.

"Mmm. The night we met again, after you first returned to Coruscant."

"The night you flung yourself out of my window?"

He smiles against her cheek. "That's the one. I should have been awake, trying to find your would-be assassin but instead I was dreaming about doing this." His fingers reach her underwear, teasing there for a few moments then hooking underneath, easing the thin material slowly down over her hips to fall to the floor.

"I dreamt of you moaning as I touched you," one of his hands is on her hip, trapped between the silky material of her dress and her skin. "Like this," the other hand trails up along her inner thigh, "and like this." Her legs tremble as his fingers dip inside her, spreading the slickness, circling her just _there_.

Once.

Then twice.

She moans.

"Yes. Just like that." His tongue flicks her earlobe, his fingers continue to slip against her.

"Mmm… Don't stop," she mumbles, the tension building in her body, finding herself suddenly desperate for more. "Please don't stop."

When he chuckles, she knows he will.

When she opens her eyes she is almost surprised to see Obi-Wan, and not Anakin.

She hisses when he removes his hands, but the sound is quickly muffled by his kiss, his arms beginning to pull her into an embrace. Irritation flaring, she pushes him back, impatiently kicking away the underwear tangled around her ankles, relishing the look of surprise on his face.

"Tease," she says, regaining her composure, playing her part one again, walking forwards, a hand on his chest, forcing him backwards against the glass of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

She leans up as if to kiss him but when he lowers his face she stops short of his lips. "I've always wondered what it might be like to do this."

She drops to her knees, looking up at him, one small hand pushing his waist to press him back hard against the cold window, her other hand moving to grasp his erection.

He moans, his hand running over his eyes then into his hair, his head tipping back against the glass.

"Look at me," she demands, caressing him in long strokes, steady but slow, before suddenly taking him into her mouth, as far as she dares.

A low moan is followed by a bang as he throws his head back against the glass, clenching his jaw, and she wants to smile but her mouth is busy, fighting the reflex to gag, working in response to the small thrusts of his hips.

The fog of her desire thickens at the feel of him, and the sight of him, like this: abandoned and under her control.

Her jaw is beginning to ache when she hears him murmuring. "Enough." He repeats it, again, more loudly, his hands moving to her shoulders.

She doesn't stop.

His hips are moving erratically now, his moaning growing louder, his fingers beginning to dig into her skin.

"Padmé… I…" There's a warning in his voice, but also, a plea.

She doesn't stop.

Suddenly, his hands leave her shoulder and slam into the window. With a final sequence of jerky thrusts and an unintelligible shout, he climaxes hard, warm liquid filling the back of her throat.

She swallows automatically, then lets his flesh fall from her mouth, pulling back to regain her breath, sitting on her heels and looking up at him.

He runs a hand gently over her hair, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and confusion. "You didn't-"

"Have to do that?" She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "I know. But I wanted to."

"I-" he begins, shaking his head. "Come here."

She takes his offered hand, and pulls herself up. He places a soft kiss to her lips, his expression suddenly serious as he rests his forehead against hers, regaining his breath.

"You are a formidable woman, you know," he says, eventually. "Many men are intimidated by you, even more desire you. I consider myself very lucky to be here with you like this."

She smiles again, not allowing the sentiment to sink past her carefully-erected shields. "And I had the biggest schoolgirl crush on you when I was fourteen." It is the truth, and she tries to remember that time, to the girl untainted by everything that has happened since. "Of course you didn't notice," she continues, pushing a damp lock of his hair away from his face. "I was just the irritating girl who happened to be Queen, wasn't I?"

"Why are you here Padmé?"

She drops her hand and turns away.

"For the same reason as you, I expect." She walks over to the bed. "I'd rather not talk about it." She cannot bring herself to openly lie to him, for the moment clinging to her self-denial.

"And when tonight is over?" he says quietly.

She sits down on the bed, feeling suddenly weary, adjusting the crumpled dress to cover her body. "Then we go back to being who we were before. Is that not the Jedi way?" She does not attempt to hide the bitterness in her voice; long since having lost all respect for a doctrine inflexible to even the simplest idiosyncrasies of human nature.

_A doctine that allows them to fail their own kind, so badly, while having the arrogance to consider themselves compassionate…_

He takes a couple of steps towards her. "But is something wrong? I sense-"

"Please don't," she interrupts him, looking down at the floor. "Don't sense anything."

He crosses to her, crouching down by her knees. "All right, but, please, look at me for a moment," he raises a hand, his fingers gently turning her face to meet his gaze, grey-green and full of concern. "Know that I am here, I will always be here, if you need help. Always. It is not conditional upon what happens in this room."

She nods, wanting to scream at him for being so fucking predictable, but then finds tears welling in her eyes, the sincerity of his voice having unlocked a vulnerability she has long fought to suppress.

When she reaches for him he seems to know instinctively what she needs.

He kisses her.

It feels like a lifetime since anyone has kissed her like this: slowly, languidly, relishing every second of contact, drawing out time until it is measured only in trembling breaths.

When, still kissing her, he begins to ease her backwards onto the bed, she knows she should tell him to stop.

_This was not supposed to happen._

Too late. She is helping him strip away her clothing, pressing her eyes tightly shut as his hands roam her body, leaving a trail of fire on her skin. Her thigh finds him hard again as he leans over, tongue flicking her nipple, teeth teasing gently at her flesh.

"Want you… now," she hears herself murmuring, acting on instinct, desperately trying to pull him on top of her.

"Yes," he responds, but he resists her invitation, instead gripping her hips, dragging her off the bed and into his lap, positioning her-

"Ohhh-" She sinks onto him, gasping as he fills her, arching her neck.

His hands on her hips help her find a fast, needy rhythm.

She surrenders to sensation, forgetting everything, even herself, knowing only the trickle of sweat down her neck, his tongue following it, beard rasping, teeth grazing, fingers digging into her thighs, bodies rocking together, grinding, chasing pleasure.

It's not quite enough and she moans in frustration, feeling him tense in response, and a few seconds later his fingers slip around her clit, circling in time with his thrusts.

The pleasure peaks swiftly then shatters around her, the waves of her orgasm encouraging him to follow, his cry against her neck, muffling her name, her body numb, muscles weakening.

She shivers and he draws her close, smoothing damp hair from her forehead. She kisses his shoulder, muscle tense under salty skin, not allowing herself to think anything at all in this moment except how comforting his arms feel around her.

* * *

Padmé returns to her apartment in the early hours of the morning, weak grey light filtering through the blinds at her window as she places her bag carefully on the table, padding to her darkened bedroom. She stands a few feet away from the bed and undresses silently, turning towards the bathroom when she's done.

A quiet rustle of bedlinen. She freezes.

"Come here." The voice is muffled by a pillow, an arm flung out towards her, reflecting the dim light.

"I need a shower."

"Come _here_."

She obeys.

Strong arms pull her between the sheets, lips soft on her neck. She shifts uncomfortably. "I'm tired."

"I just want to kiss you." A mouth presses to hers and she yields to him limply, merely allowing him to kiss her.

He appears not to notice her lack of response and, satisfied after a few minutes, he pulls away, stretching back on the bed, fingers of his flesh hand resting lightly on her chest. Exhausted, she finds herself drifting towards sleep.

"So did he call out my name when he came?" The voice drags her back to wakefulness.

She groans.

"Did _you_?" he continues.

"What?"

"Did you come?"

"Anakin."

"I need to know."

The bed shifts under his weight and rough hands turn her face to his. She opens her eyes to see him staring down at her, jealousy mixing with fear in ice-blue eyes.

The man she could so easily hate. The boy she can't help but love.

She tilts her chin in defiance. "Why didn't you just go to him yourself?"

He laughs. "Somehow I don't think he's quite ready for that." His finger slides over her swollen lips. "Whereas you, my love, are the perfect bait."

"I still find it difficult to believe it was your idea."

His face sets to an impenetrable mask.

She reaches a hand to his cheek. "Surely you can tell me, now. Surely I deserve to know more, after this." She always asks, even if she fears the day when he will tell her the truth.

"In time," he says, turning his head to kiss her fingers. "But for now all you need to know is that this is the only way. When the Jedi fall, he will not be among them."

"And you are certain he will join you?"

"Yes," he replies. "I know him well enough. His weaknesses, and his strengths."

She smiles. "He's more like you than I thought."

"Really?" He settles between her legs, gloved hand against her jaw.

"Mmm," her mouth is muffled by his kiss, his tongue against hers.

He breaks away from her mouth, his erection nudging her thigh. She adjusts her legs to pull him closer.

"So did you let him fuck you?" he asks, teasing her with the movement of his hips, smiling against her hitched breaths.

"Don't."

"Did you?" His voice is a fierce whisper.

"Yes."

"Did you come?"

She deliberately locks her eyes with his. "No."

He smiles. "Good." His hips flex forward, filling her in one long thrust. She meets his rhythm, wondering if she'll ever stop needing him.

"Mine," he whispers fiercely, against her neck.

"Yours."

"Always."

"Always."

"I love you."

"I love you." She turns her head to the side, for once wanting to avoid his fevered kisses.

A tear slides down her cheek and onto the pillow.


End file.
